⅏ [gardens surrounded Vongola manor ofc]
Hurt & Comfort⅏ - Take my muse out for a walk in a peaceful area
☁ The snarky remark, his automatic defence mechanism when it came to Daemon, died on the tip of his tongue when he caught a glimpse of the unusual seriousness painting the illusionist’s face. He should have known better than to think that him of all people would have been fooled by his carefully-crafted pretences, the man lived and dealt in false realities. Looking underneath the underneath was what he did. Quietly and without protest, he allowed the Mist to lead him out of the crowded ballroom, the unlikely duo slipping out without anyone else noticing, thanks to Daemon’s illusions no doubt.
The silence lingered between the two as they made their way through the gardens, barely lit in the natural lighting of the moon and stars. Being here in this familiar place away from the hustle and bustle of the mansion had the lines of tension from his body easing, the Cloud falling into an almost melancholic state as he walked besides Daemon, dropping the mask they both knew was useless, hands buried in the pockets of the formal dark overcoat. It was easy, too easy maybe, to relax in the presence of the Mist even though he did retain some of his wariness because it was Daemon, at least he was no longer holding himself completely aloof as he had been previously. To the outsider it would be an utterly bizarre sight to see the Vongola’s Cloud and Mist coexisting peacefully side-by-side and without the usual quarrelling that was signature of the pair.
Although the illusionist did not voice it, perhaps he could guess at what was ailing Alaude. Just a few days prior the blond skylark had returned from a personal mission in France, face grim and confined to his office under the pretence of missed paperwork. Not even Giotto knew the true purpose of this mission (he would have been horrified if he did), but Daemon, who was very much a fixed presence in his present and past, he knew more about Alaude than he cared to admit. Perhaps that was why he chose not to push him away. Because him of all people could understand the moral grey he found himself walking along. The blood he’d spilt on the anniversary of her death, a vivid reminder to his enemies that he was still alive and biding his time - their time will come. He was a deadly weapon they had created by their own hands, and in payment he will destroy them all for ripping apart his famille. Daemon would not judge him, this he was sure - they were more alike in some ways than others even if their execution tended to be different. The Mist and the Cloud… their own elements were not too dissimilar either, variations of the same theme.
He let out a soft exhale, footsteps light as they traversed deeper into the gardens where the underbrush was thicker and plants grew untamed. Placing an arm across the front of his jacket to stop the other in his tracks, Alaude slipped in front of him, looking up at the taller male with an unvoiced question in his blue gaze.
Do you ever regret…?
Them, the Vongola, this? What haven’t they done to protect what they care about? No matter how distant Alaude preferred to hold himself away from these people, try as he might to resist he always seemed to gravitate back to Daemon. Feelings were never meant to be involved in this arrangement of theirs, but then he went and did something like this and the blond had to wonder when exactly had the lines begun to blur, at least for himself. Never had he needed anyone like this, centimetres apart that he could almost feel the warmth radiating off the other, and their breathes mingling in the cool night’s air. It went against his very instincts of solitude. Every part of his being rebelled against the thought, wanting to be repulsed, but his treacherous feelings paid no heed to his mind’s want. He took a step towards him, lifting a hand to push aside stray strands of hair as his lips slanted up across Daemon’s almost tenderly belying the usual aggression when he initiated such occasions.
“Let us forget tonight.” He murmured for his ears only, hovering still with his eyes closed. It was easier this way, to discard the thoughts of his busy mind. He blamed this strange mood of his, it made him needy and weak. Maybe he just needed an outlet for these emotions, so he could squash them completely before it evolved into something more beyond his control.
Tomorrow they could go back to ignoring what exactly had transpired au clair de la lune; Alaude could return to pretending that all this was just physical. That it didn’t matter.
Falling for Daemon Spade was the single worst idea ever.
